Chapter One

Dalton

S ix Weeks Later

"You have a meeting!" my assistant, Jake, shouts down the hall as I stalk toward my office, my head already fucking pounding. I didn't even make it out of the house this morning before my grandfather started his bullshit, demanding to know if I'd signed his insane contract yet.

No. No. Hell no. I haven't signed a fucking thing. As far as I'm concerned, he can shove his contract up his crotchety old ass.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

But I come to work every damn day anyway. And I haven't burned the paperwork yet, either. It's in my desk…and I look at it far more often than I'd like to admit.

"I'm serious, Dalton!" Jake's booming voice floats down the hall. "Meeting. Twenty minutes!"

"I know!" I shout back, grinding my teeth as the pounding in my head intensifies. I'm the one who set up the meeting with Riley Jamison. Of course I didn't forget about it.

Winter Pyke's world tour starts soon. And after what happened last time she was on tour, we have a whole helluva lot to accomplish before we send her and the band back out on the road. I won't have anyone trying to shoot her again.

I stride into my office, running through a mental list, only to stop dead when I catch sight of a woman standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows behind my desk, her back to me as she gazes out at the Nashville skyline. Her hair is pinned up on top of her head in an intricate bun, leaving the back of her neck exposed. My gaze travels down her body—over the soft swell of her waist, her curvy hips, and the roundness of her perfect ass.

Fucking Christ.

The way her skirt hugs her curves should be illegal. She's got a body made for sin—thick and lush. That soft, sweet body was made for a man like me to get lost in. Not that I'd fucking know about that.

I may be the only goddamn virgin billionaire this side of the equator. The media would have a field day with that if they knew, but it's never been something I cared to fix.

Frankly, I keep my fucking hands to myself for a reason. The less time I spend with women, the less chance I fuck around and fall in love with one. And that's something I won't do.

I watch the woman for a long moment, curious who the fuck she is and why she's in my office. From the few photos I've seen—and God knows, I've spent more time than I'd like to admit staring at those over the last six weeks—she could almost be the woman my grandfather is trying to force me to marry. Tempest Evernight.

That woman is fucking gorgeous. Long, curly hair the color of midnight, amber eyes framed by thick, sooty lashes, skin the color of burnished gold, and a body that makes my fucking teeth ache.

There's nothing small about her. She's got these voluptuous curves that overflow in a way that I want to experience for myself. I never knew a belly could be so sexy until I saw photos of her.

From the back, this girl could be her twin. But Tempest is halfway across the continent in LA…right?

Jesus Christ. I'm going to kill Jake for not warning me she was here. Actually, I'm going to strangle the old man for not telling me she was coming because I guarantee he fucking knew.

Instead of letting her know I'm there, I watch her in silence, fascinated as her hands flutter and she shifts restlessly, those luscious hips swaying. She seems anxious, nervous. But even then, she stands straight, her shoulders back and her head held high, clinging to grace with an understated confidence that has my balls cinching up tight and my cock throbbing.

"It's beautiful up here, Dalton," she says suddenly, her voice soft and lilting. I didn't even realize she knew I was watching her. "Very peaceful."

A harsh laugh erupts before I can stop it. "It's an illusion. This office is a fucking prison."

Once upon a time, I loved this place and everything it represented. It was a sanctuary, my goddamn kingdom. The old man snatched away any semblance of peace I found here six weeks ago.

I've been at war with him and myself ever since.

Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off, stubbornly dig in my heels, and refuse this arranged marriage even if it means watching Grady Records and everything I've built crash and burn. I won't be controlled. I'm not a puppet.

But the other part…shit. That part is all fucked up in the head. I've looked into Tempest, seen her pictures, and read about her. She's not just gorgeous but brilliant. She runs her family's record label almost single-handedly at only twenty-four, and she's done a damn good job.

She's fucking incredible—fiery and intelligent, and compassionate and empathetic, too. Everyone who knows her respects her. They love her.

I've never been fascinated by a woman, let alone to the degree this one fascinates me. I'm drawn to her, and I don't even know her. I hate that I can't stop thinking about her…and I don't hate it nearly enough at the same goddamn time.

And I'm not entirely sure if I feel the way I do because my fucking grandfather got into my head by telling me that she's what my parents would have wanted for me or if it's because she's in my head.

All I know is that the old man detonated a bomb in my life, and the motherfucker is still exploding.

I watch her shoulders rise and fall with every breath, trying like hell to convince myself that I don't want to want her. But I'm no longer sure if that's true. I feel like I'm raging against the goddamn wind, trying to convince it to hear me. But the wind never cared how much we scream into it. It does what the fuck it's going to do regardless.

She slowly turns to face me, and my goddamn heart stops.

"Shit," I growl, rocking back on my heels. She's even more beautiful in person than in her photos. Those eyes… goddamn those eyes. They're startling, vivid amber with tiny blue flecks. Fierce intelligence blazes like the sun in them as she meets my gaze, searching, assessing.

It's almost like she's looking for something. It's obvious she's nervous, but she tries like hell not to let it show. She's a brave little goddess, trembling and too fucking sweet.

"You know who I am," she finally says, her tongue skating across her full bottom lip.

"Why wouldn't I?" I arch a brow. "We're betrothed, are we not?" The word feels wrong on my tongue. This isn't how any of this shit is supposed to happen.

Seconds tick by as we stare at each other, the air crackling with tension. It's like it's alive between us, a current of energy shifting and contorting between us…drawing me closer. I shove my hands into my pockets and plant my feet, fighting like hell to stay away from her, to not give into whatever madness this is. But I feel it. Christ, it's alive between us, raising hairs on the back of my neck, whispering through my fucking veins.

No.

It doesn't matter how fascinating she is or how intense the attraction is; this can't happen. The last thing she needs in her life is a motherfucker like me.

After a long moment, she finally speaks again, a challenge in her voice. "So we are. But I can't help but wonder…"

"Wonder what?" I practically growl, desperate to know what she's thinking about, what's turning over in her mind.

"Is it the office that's the prison or the fact that you just found out about the marriage contract?"

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth grind. Fuck. I don't want to answer that question. No matter what I say, the answer is guaranteed to hurt her feelings. I don't want to do that. She's not the one I'm angry with.

In my world, happily-ever-after doesn't exist. It's just a lie we tell ourselves until something comes along and rips it all away. And I already live with the scars of losing one family. I'm not willing to add a whole new set. I won't ever be that vulnerable again.

But goddamn. She's even more tempting in person. The way her curvy body moves, the fierce intelligence sparking in her eyes, the fullness of her lips. I want to peel that tight dress off her and see all of her. Want to feel her soft skin against mine as I…

Fuck. I shove the thoughts away, ruthlessly trying to quell the desire coursing through my veins.

Does she even want this marriage herself? I can't help but think she's only here because her entire future demands it. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her company. According to the old man, her fucking father wants a piece of Grady Records so badly, he's threatening to leave her with nothing if he doesn't get it.

Marriage is a cage for her, too; only she has fewer options than I do. I don't want to be a jailer. Especially not to a woman like her—one meant to be free.

And yet…the paperwork is still in my fucking desk.

I rake a hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted. Weary of fighting my grandfather, my mind…my own churning emotions. It's all I've done for the last six weeks.

"Why are you here, Tempest?" I ask, my voice sharp, far sharper than I intended.

She glances aside, her amber eyes drifting from mine. I don't think she intends for me to see it, but something sad shifts through her eyes before she manages to hide them from me.

My heart clenches at the sight.

Fucking hell. She wants this sham of a marriage, doesn't she?

"I came to set you free," she says quietly, her face a mask of determination even as her lush mouth trembles.

I blink at her, uncomprehending as she does the same fucking thing the old man did—detonates a bomb in my life. "What are you—?"

She throws up a hand, cutting me off. "I'm not interested in marrying a man more interested in my company than me." Her eyes blaze with a savage light, a fierceness that makes my cock throb in my slacks. "I don't care who he is or how much he's worth."

Fuck her company. I want her. Crave her with an intensity that terrifies me. That's what's fucking me up. I don't even know her, but here lately, she's the only goddamn thing I think about.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" I ask instead of telling her any of that.

"Seriously, Dalton?" Her eyes narrow on me. "Please don't treat me like I'm stupid. I know you've been looking into the company, doing your due diligence. You've invested countless hours over the last six weeks going over our financials, our roster, our history…you've pried into every single detail of Evernight Music Group. But the one thing you haven't done is pick up the phone to call me. You don't want this marriage. You just want the company because my father dangled the possibility of a merger in your face."

Fuck.

She's right. I have poured over every detail of Evernight, preparing for the possibility of a merger. But she's wrong, too. I've spent far more of those hours obsessing over her than her company.

"You don't want this marriage, so I'm giving you your wish. The wedding is off." Despite her show of bravery, her voice trembles when she says it. She's far more upset about this than she'd like me to believe.

"Without me, you lose your company, Tempest," I remind her quietly. "You lose everything. You don't want that."

Just a minute ago, I saw the truth in her eyes. She wants this marriage. But now, she's willing to give everything up to walk away from it…just to protect the company she's willing to sacrifice. It doesn't make any fucking sense.

Why would she want to shackle herself to a bastard like me if not for her company?

"Then I have no company. Some things are more important."

"What?" I growl. "What's more important?"

"Self-respect," she says softly.

"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" I ask, genuinely mystified.

"I won't chain myself to a man who clearly wants nothing to do with me, Dalton," she sniffs. "I may be a big girl, but I'm not a charity case. I have more self-respect than to let myself be treated like one just because you look the way you do."

Fucking Christ. She thinks her size is a problem for me? Fuck no. She's perfect. Her curves have me so fucking hard I can't think straight.

But of course she thinks I'm a fucking pretentious asshole who thinks he's too good for her.

I've given her no reason to think otherwise, have I?

Because she's absolutely right. I found out about this marriage contract six weeks ago, but I never once tried to reach out to her. I never picked up the phone. I never went to meet her. I haven't done a fucking thing but fight it. If she's feeling insecure, the only place I need to look to find the reason is in the damn mirror.

I'm an asshole.

"Tempest, I…"

"You don't owe me an explanation. You're allowed to feel the way you feel. But so am I."

"You don't under—"

"I'll tell your grandfather that I decided not to go through with the marriage. I'll ask that he not hold you responsible." Her bottom lip quivers again before she sinks her teeth into it, stilling it.

"Tempest, dammit. Wait!"

"Don't curse at me," she snaps, fire in her eyes.

"Then stop for two seconds, and let me explain!"

"Do you always get what you want?"

"Yes," I grit out.

"Not today, you don't," she retorts, a stubborn tilt to her chin as she strides toward my office door, her sweet curves swaying. "Good luck with your company, Dalton."

Panic seizes me as she shifts to step past me. I grab for her without thinking, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. Sparks shoot through me at the contact, desire hitting me like a punch to the gut.

What the fuck am I doing?

A minute ago, I was looking for a way out of this arranged marriage. Well, here it is. She's giving me an escape route, handing it over on a silver platter. I should be leaping at the chance, not stopping her.

But I can't let her leave like this, not without answers. And everything she just told me is a bunch of bullshit. She isn't doing this because she lacks confidence. It practically fucking drips from her. There's something else; I'd stake my life on it. And I want to know what it is.

But I can't say a single word. Not when I've got my hand on her, and every fucking cell in my body is shooting off sparks, screaming at me to pull her closer and take one little taste.

I see the same desperate hunger reflected back at me in her gorgeous amber eyes. She feels this—the pull. The need. She aches the same fucking way I do right now.

"Tempest…" I start, but I have no idea what to say. How to convince her to stay. "I'm an asshole." It seems like a good place to start.

"I'm aware." She yanks out of my grip, her breath coming hard and fast. I feel the loss of her touch instantly, an icy emptiness seeping through me.

"Tempest, wait."

"Goodbye, Dalton." She practically flees from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she rushes to the elevator.

I'm left frozen, my hand still outstretched, staring at the empty doorway. What the ever-loving fuck just happened? Did she seriously just throw away her company and her future to keep from marrying me? Yes. Yes, that's exactly what the fuck just happened.

I turn on my heel, determined to go after her and do…something to fix this. I don't know what, considering that she doesn't seem all that willing to let me fix it. But now that I've met her, now that she's stood right in front of me…fucking Christ. I can't let her leave.

The intercom on my desk buzzes before I even take a step.

"You need to get your ass to the conference room," Jake informs me. "Riley will be here in five."

Shit, the meeting. I can't do it. Not now. I need to go after Tempest, convince her…what? That I'm not an asshole? That she wants to marry me? I don't fucking know.

"Cancel it," I bark.

"Cancel it?" Jake splutters. "What the fuck? You never cancel meetings."

"Jake, cancel the damn meeting," I growl impatiently. "Now."

"Fine," he groans. "But if the gorgeous woman who just ran out of your office has anything to do with this, I'm killing you myself. Riley is going to kick my ass for canceling at the last minute."

The intercom cuts off, and I exhale heavily. He's right. Riley is going to kick his ass for canceling last minute. And then she's going to hunt me down and kick mine.

My phone starts vibrating in my pocket before I can make it out of my door.

"Fuck!" I growl, yanking it out with more force than necessary. The whole goddamn world is conspiring against me, determined to keep me from going after Tempest.

"What?" I snap, putting it to my ear.

"Hey, boss," Carmine, my head of security, says cautiously. "Sorry to bother you, but, uh, Lena is MIA."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, my headache growing by leaps and bounds. Of course. Of fucking course Lena picked today of all days to run away from security again.

"How long has she been gone?" I ask wearily.

"Dorothy says her car wasn't here when she got here two hours ago."

"Son of a bitch." I pace the length of my office, frustration and worry crashing through me. Lena could be anywhere by now.

As desperate as I am to go after Tempest and demand answers, it's going to have to wait. I can't leave Lena out there alone. She may be twenty-four, but she's too innocent and trusting for her own good. She doesn't understand that there are people in the world who would hurt her simply because she has what they don't—light, laughter, innocence. Not to mention the fact that she's a fucking millionaire.

"I'll handle it," I tell Carmine grimly before ending the call.

But as soon as I track down my wayward cousin, Tempest and I are going to have a reckoning. I don't believe for a minute that she's running just because I'm an asshole. There's something more, I know there is. I saw the way she looked at me. I saw the sadness in her eyes. She wants this—wants me.

And dammit all, I want the same fucking thing. Her. Not her company, not a merger. Her .